Spice and Wolf: Reweave
by HouseOf13lack
Summary: Same story, different storyteller. Original Spice and Wolf text unstitched and re-embroidered to form a more intricate picture of Lawrence's and Holo's travels.


Spice and Wolf: Reweave

Same story, different storyteller. Original Spice and Wolf text unstitched and re-embroidered to form a more intricate picture of Lawrence's and Holo's travels.

Note to reader: There may have been minor alterations in some places, not enough to cause major plot points to change (though I may skip some), but different enough to be interesting. The overall impression the story gives will change through the fleshing out characteristics not shown, or not overtly exposed, of characters, all of which could possibly have surfaced in the original light novels, or through more explicit world building, or by reordering some small things. The point of this exercise is not to change the characters, just make them less two-dimensional, somewhat deeper, complex, and ultimately more real - a writer's true dream. Of course, this writer won't hesitate to fiddle with this story to suit this writer's tastes a little more. Some self indulgence here, but, then again, writer's license. So, please do expect anything and everything! I will do my utmost to take this in as many directions as my limited imagination can fathom. I will try to write in a different style/mood/perspective every chapter to shake my writing up a bit, stretching exercises for writing if you will (and also to challenge myself), so please stay tuned for this series of mish-mashed styles in the flavour of spice, simmered till with generous portions of wolf.

Chapter 1

A girl - appearing old enough to be called a lass, but not yet the age to be whistled at by married men in a bar - flitted through the ripened wheat-fields, fingertips brushing the swaying stalks of wheat on left and right of her as she ran past them, laughing softly. The wheat trembled as they felt the girl pass by, and straightened themselves ever so slightly as if to better receive the girl's lovely touch. An observant farmer would have seen this as he packed up his last bundle of cut wheat. Even though there was a full moon, and still too much wheat to harvest, it was getting too dark to continue wielding a sickle for the old man, lest he cut a thumb off due to his poor night eyes. He could barely make out the figure of the girl, now scaling an oak tree, as he straightened, hefting the wheat onto his back. He looked a little while, but then averted his eyes. He smiled a little sadly to himself as he swiped away some sweat from his weather beaten face, which had by now reddened slightly. He wondered which family's girl was so bold as to run around wearing... He did not hold his gaze for a clearer look, turning his back virtuously away from the fully nude girl sitting on a branch of the oak, a long, bushy tail hang down from behind the branch, uncurled and lengthened out, becoming completely straight for a second as the girl stretched. The darkened sky did not impair her sight in the least, nor did she feel particularly cold yet despite the the already-settling-in autumn nights. Her vision allowed her to see vividly the farmer turn away, embarassed. She smiled, amused at such typically human behaviour, as she gathered up her tail and started to comb through it with her slight fingers.

"... and after taking you away from the crowd, the girl will transform into a huge wolf and demand a sacrifice for the good harvest. No need to guess what the sacrifice would be."

Lawrence finished off his tale with a nonchalant shrug, keeping on the pokerface he had perfected as a merchant seven years in. Inside, however, was his sealed-off laughter that he would keep for himself later on.

For now, he focused on guiling the little knight in front of him who had given him no choice but to climb the stairs to his ramshackle hut at the gates of the most likely poor monastery in this rural countryside.

Lawrence felt it unjust for him to be compelled by a lowly knight who did not even have a visor on his helm to cover his boyish freckles. It was not his pride that reacted in this way though, but something embedded deep within his conscience.

The fact that he had to expend unwarranted energy on this foreseeably useless chore, walking uphill for a good couple of yards, wasting breath on someone he probably would not meet again, or if he did, would not have recognised, and then walking back down again, to where his cart and horse waited, also added on to the insult. An insult that for Lawrence, was not merely about the slight indignity of being commanded with a holler and a wave by a young boy of a knight that could easily have been his apprentice, but was about the insult to his professionalism. Merchants wasted as little time as they could, and even time merchants counted as "wasted" inevitably led back to the merchant's sole aim of turning a profit. Just as countless other apprentices had endured the neverending stream of advice, repeated till it became second nature, Lawrence had listened to his master go on and on about what a merchant was and should be, to the point where Lawrence almost broke down and ran away to start his own trade. But it was lucky he did not, else it would have been proven he did not have the strength of mind to strike out on his own in the first place. Lawrence blessed his lucky stars he did not run away. Sometimes sticking proved more than running.

At long last, the young and evidently not-so-bright knight completed his evaluation of Lawrence's pagan tale. He seemed not to believe it. The knight remained averse to coming to a decision on what to do with Lawrence, who had just told the tale, however. A result, no doubt, of the boy's masters telling him that polishing his helm was more important than polishing his mind. This was evident from the blinding flashes of light bouncing off the knight's helm, jumping at Lawrence every time the knight shifted his uneasy feet, shaking his head slightly at the fantastical story Lawrence had just told, which irritated him even more. To think that there was once a time when knights were the only true leaders among men. That time was past, not so long ago as to become mythical, but definitely before Lawrence's time. Now knights became queasy at hearing stories not from the church. What next? Pagan jokes that killed? Lawrence let out a snort.

The knight's posture snapped taut, and he glowered, eyes tight and searching, accusing Lawrence of insubordination. He opened his mouth to say something, but Lawrence cut him off smoothly by interjecting a "I guess I had better leave you in peace", a skill he picked up while dealing with annoying people. Most of the time, the phrase ended the conversation decisively regardless of circumstance. The young knight did not produce a response, and watched mutely as Lawrence skipped down the rough stone steps.

Reaching the bottom, Lawrence waved in spite of himself at the knight, who numbly waved back, probably still contemplating how much of a threat Lawrence's story was. Lawrence barked a laugh, untied his horse and clambered onto his cart. Lawrence gave one last look at the knight whom he would never see again, whose helm still shone as bright as ever under the late summer sky, and spat onto the path to his right in riddance. The spittle came out in a dribble and hung onto his downturned lips, and he had to spit once again to cut loose the saliva. His cart horse snorted and shook its head before starting off.

"You wouldn't be so sure if I didn't still owe money on you."

The cart seemed to move faster from there on out.

Lawrence in fact knew quite a bit about this so-called pagan festival - he had participated in it since his first merchant run seven years ago. Village traditions spoke of a wolf-god, Holo, which lived in the wheat, blessing the harvests. The villagers seemed to believe the tale even more than they believed the word of God, an irregularity in the Southern lands here. Lawrence personally did not believe in any particular religion, but was willing to trust his eyes if he ever saw God, or any other diety for that matter.

He had chanced upon the village after reading his map wrongly and taking a wrong turn. He made it to the village just in time for their harvest festival, and for purchasing a load of their admittedly high quality wheat, was invited to join in the revelry. That was when he was still unsure whether he should grow a beard - with all business considerations put before appearances, of course. A beard may be the difference between one trusting you as a strong, trustworthy travelling merchant, or as someone not worthy to talk business to because he was not clean shaven.

He had left his master to tend his store by himself as soon as he could. He did not feel much remorse for leaving - his master was a hard man whose humour had been leeched out of him by decades of trading with surly salt makers. It seemed that the more mundane the good, the less happy the merchant. That was the reason Lawrence left the day he turned 18. He had been staying away from trading things which were too simple ever since. That was how he frequently ended up high in the hilly regions of Trenni and in the heathen lands of Ploania.

He did, however inexplicably, miss his master now though. It was strange that he did now, in his 25th year alive, where he had not done so before. Lawrence reflected upon his lifestyle. It had been seven years of solitude, the only links he had to other humans were his business friends - not the true friends that his business partners with stable town stalls boasted about, the barely concealed antagonism in almost every business dealing, and the close, but never close enough, brushes with town girls. If he had spoken more than a sentence to a lass he did not know it. He had never had the charisma nor the money to charm girls while sober. He may have spoken more than a word or two to girls, but that would either be when he was drunk, or... When he was drunk. That was the only occasion.

Three times Lawrence had visited this small farming village, all in the first three years of his career. Now that he was 25, it would be his fourth time in town. It had been four years since his last visit, as he decided to switch back to following the path of [[St. ]], which he found to be more profitable. He was tiring of the St. Friedrich route, and it was time to visit friends and acquaintances he had to give up visiting on the St. Friedrich route. Arriving in Pasloe village was a welcome change from the endless big cities he traversed on the St. Friedrich path, which were much more vexing trade in and less profitable too. So it did surprise him a little that someone remembered him and called out his name. It was even more surprising, however, to hear a feminine voice carrying through the air, calling his name. Which young girl in this remote village would remember him? It was nigh impossible to meet a foreign acquaintance here.

"Lawrence!"

It was Chloe, the daughter of the village chief. Lawrence surprised himself by remembering her name in a snap.

Lawrence loosened up when he remembered the voice. If it were any lass other than Chloe who somehow miraculously remembered his name, Lawrence would have ignored the voice, pretending to not hear, and would speed off to avoid any awkward conversation. He knew his limitations - he was generally not one for small talk (except for in the pub, maybe. He did not know when he was drunk), not with other men he was not doing business with, much less young women. He could not explain his natural repulsion to the girls he should be chasing. It was not that he did not dream of a marrying a girl, it just seemed to him idle talk with no results was the worst use of his time. He realised this might have been why he got angry with the idiot knight so quickly. In any case, Chloe was the only female in town with whom he could hold a conversation with while in his comfort zone. He could talk to her endlessly on the market situations in current years or in history, insider news on certain goods and so on, and he could easily reciprocate. Even though she was only barely 11 when Lawrence met her, she had been able to speak to Lawrence with little difficulty on things he found difficult to understand when even he was a senior apprentice at 17. He could see very clearly how bright the mind was behind those two sparkling eyes, which she put had already been putting to good use handling money matters in the village by the last time he saw her. She wasted no opportunity to learn and put her knowledge to use. Being the village chief's daughter was not wasted on her. Each year Lawrence returned to find her ever more mature and intellectual, and she was more knowledgeable by 13 than many men who were 30. Lawrence had felt joy in believing that he had played a part in introducing to her the basics of his craft, money and trade when he stayed in the village for weeks to wait for the goods he wanted to be prepared. He had had the time to talk to Chloe, so he did, since for one she was the village chief's daughter and it would be good to build ties with his him through his family, and, probably the more important reason why Lawrence was so happy spending as much time with her as he did, was that she was an interesting girl. Her ideas were often larger than the entire village. If it were Chloe Lawrence were talking to, he would never get bored, and so would not be needing to leave a kind hearted villager, who probably wanted to strike up a conversation with the impatient merchant to must have been bored out of his wits watching farmers farm, hanging when he had nothing more to say and yet could not end the conversation satisfactorily. They would but drift off as something else caught their attention. He did not want to have another conversation die off because of the lack of a common topic.

Or lack of conversational skills. Lawrence admonished himself for blaming others before finding his own faults - a tenet of being a successful trader. It was in his master's harsher words that Lawrence remembered this fact of life: You are the always the ass in trading, to be flogged, and to learn slowly of what you did wrog. Why else would people want to trade with you if you did not lower yourself below them?

Therefore during much of his previous stays, Lawrence talked to Chloe, and very little to everyone else. It made his life so much easier and waiting time in the village enjoyable.

The cart bounced a little as Chloe lithely landed a well leathered sole onto the cart, launching herself into the driver's box before spinning round so that she could squeeze herself onto the driver's bench on Lawrence's left. It seemed to have a lot less space for the both of them from what he remembered from his last time in town.

"Chloe! I see you have not changed. Still as energetic as before."

At first she said nothing, only staring straight ahead at the path narrowing to a point before being completely folded into the amber wheat fields.

Lawrence respected her silence and reciprocated it. The cart trundled on in between the softly rustling fields.

"Nothing else to say to me already? No comment on how I look?" Chloe had turned towards Lawrence and their eyes connected as Lawrence also turned to Chloe to see how he could answer her question.

It was already starting to get cold, Pasloe being in a mountainous region and still far out from sea, though not as far as Yorentsu. The cold wind that now stiffened Lawrence's neck were already the first breaths of the cool highland night, but Chloe did not flinch though she wore but a dress.

"Don't give me that concerned look of yours, y'ein't half old enough to worry about me in a small breeze!"

Lawrence went back to concentrating on the approaching village periphery.

"I came from helping in the fields anyway, so a little cool air feels just fine. Ein't cold at all!"

Chloe loosened the top few laces of her bodice to prove her point, and the two layers of previously overlapping white cloth pulled away from each other after being freed from the lace that bound them together. Her shoulders rose and her chest expanded as she breathed in deep, taking advantage of the loosened dress. It was now more than obvious to Lawrence that the dress Chloe chose to wear was smaller than what she could, and maybe should, have worn, for her comfort.

Lawrence said nothing. Surely enough, a few minutes in, Chloe sneezed, and eyeing the extra coat at the corner of the cart, she gave it a hard tug to dislodge it from the wheat stacked up against it, and put it on in two short movements.

"Well?"

"The sun is setting."

Lawrence smiled inwardly. Chloe had not changed. _Even mistakes had to be covered up tidy manner that precluded any further embarrassment on her part. She would make a good village advisor based on this alone._ Lawrence made a mental note to commend her pragmatism in front of the village chief, her father when they would inevitably meet later on. He made the further distinction that this would be best said when they discussed business so that his point could be put across in the most serious manner, showing that he meant what he said about Chloe.

Lawrence scribed down the thought in his mind and filed it in a mental drawer, to be examined again before he met the chief. The details of how he would phrase his praise would come a little later. For now, he would enjoy the rest of the ride to town with Chloe, watching as their shadows lengthened and slowly faded into the night while Chloe spoke endlessly of her exploits as the newly appointed treasurer of her village.

* * *

><p>So here I am again, after a long hiatus. To those following for Halo and didn't get it, only excuse I have is that I'm still working on it. But I thought that starting this would be a breath of fresh air, so here it is. I did this over some time on my phone months back, but with the A levels in November this year, I never finished it off and waited till now to do so. To everyone else (and Halo fans who are also fans of Spice and Wolf): hope you enjoyed!<p> 


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